


Quest of the Crone’s Men

by shibemythri



Category: Adventure - Fandom, Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Fantasy - Fandom, Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Will fix tabs when done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21517957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shibemythri/pseuds/shibemythri
Summary: Will fix soon.
Relationships: Altmer/Argonian, Bosmer/Nord, Mer/Nord
Kudos: 1





	Quest of the Crone’s Men

**Persons Unknown**

This mission was supposed to be easy, a quick look around, slay a draugr or two, maybe some minor corpse looting. Nothing like this. It was never supposed to end up like this.

The stones surrounded them, everywhere they turned was a dreary grey bathed in the dying yellow of their torches. Stagnant, off smelling, possibly corpse water dripped along and off the ceiling in a slow, maddening beat that was sure to haunt the party’s waking dreams for the rest of their lives.

The only other sound beside the constant drip, drip, drip; was their own hurried foot falls crashing off into an endless echo along with broken gasps from such prolonged running.

But, no matter how far they got, the walls only got closer together, the paths only grew more labyrinthine in scale with each and every turn. What should have been familiar now made no sense as they passed another mural that the nord swore that they’d seen before.

They were lost. Well and truly lost, left to run about like ants under the earth in circles. And, without the sun, none were sure if it had been moments, minutes, hours, or days since they’d left this ancient cavern’s antechamber.

And to top it all off...

There was a monster behind them.

A monster that they didn’t even know what it looked like. The orc had been the one to doubt at first, back when they had set up camp and had sent a few to scout ahead. When the argonian and elf came back to the group screaming that they had to leave. Abandon everything, they needed to go, now. He had thought that they were overreacting.

That man was dead now. Along with the elf.

All that remained was the captain, the two nord brothers, and the argonian.

The argonian has not said a single word of what he had seen. Just ran ahead, tail stiff as a rod as he abandoned his now extinguished torch on the ground and rushed into the black abyss ahead of him.

Whatever he had seen had truly upset him, turning the once chatty and amicable rogue into an animal, driven by instinct to run, flee the area. The captain could barely understand what might be behind them as whispers in the dark greeted their sharp ears, spoken in a tongue this Bosmer could not understand. It was deep, guttural, and much too close for comfort as another arrow whizzed past their cheek, slicing the skin.

What felt like flames licked at their nerves as the Bosmer could feel whatever ancient poison bleed into their body. It was strong, lethal for any lesser mer or man; but, the captain was not just some man.

Continuing on after the argonian with a hiss, the captain bit their swelling tongue.

Behind him were the brothers, heavy armor weighing them down as more and more arrows and harsh growls followed them throughout the ruin.

The eldest, Gimli, took up the rear. Leaving his hefty Stormcloak shield on his back, letting it take whatever arrows may come as he loosely held his steel sword before him in one hand, a dying torch to light the path ahead in the other.

The untreated wound on his side made his breathing worsen as dirt, grime, sweat, and gods know what else got into the would- probably worsening the possibility of infection.

He probably wouldn’t make it, if truth be told. Gim could feel his lungs start to fill with blood with each and every breath he would take. His left lung was popped, that was a given, possibly punctured by the sword that would do him in. But no one else in the group would need to know that, least of all his younger brother Gilli.

Gods he hoped that he wouldn’t end up dying down here, stuck with his own undead ancestors.

Gilli, for his part, seemed the least effected by what was going on in the group, every so often a curse or encouragement would leave his lips as he barely kept pace with the captain, his two handed ax held close to his chest as he muttered to himself, cursing the day he joined these fool adventurers and his equally foolish brother into this accursed place. A fool himself for thinking it a good idea to impress the impassive spymaster with his fake courage and determination, only to make an idiot of himself. He was going to die down here, and for what?

Why had he accepted this quest again?

Oh that’s right, because a true son of Skyrim must listen to his king, even if his king is a dying puppet with a thousand hands shoved up his ass, waiting for their turn to speak.

_By the nine_.

They were trapped. They had to be. It just wouldn’t make sense otherwise. Whatever horror the argonian and other elf had seen down there was now hunting them down like a fat cat to a dying mouse. Waiting to kill them at any moment as they grew more and more fatigued. It only need to wait.

As the dead woke from their eternal slumber disturbed, once the men rushed past, they became an ongoing source of torment. Screaming and shambling, that was almost visible at the edges of the torchlight. Gaining on them. Gilli cursed his luck and wished for drier pants.

While the three men and a mer grappled with the growing darkness and the impending threat of the Draugr around them, the argonian was charging through the dark at a mad dash, following the briefest wisp of a breeze to the exit. His crown frills lay flat against his head as every sound that drew closer became another source of fear and speculation. Twice the lizard man had found himself falling on all fours to scramble over long maligned divots and rubble, his weak claws scraping against the stone with desperation. He seemed more beast than man. Driven by instinct.

He did not care about how much noise he made, or how frantic his breaths became, as long as he could escape. His friends? In that moment they did not matter to him near as much as they once did.

If they died, he might mourn them, if they never escaped this oblivion be damned hellscape when he did, guilt and shame for not being much help would surely feast upon his soul. Possible to drive him mad with the thought of their bodies left to rot in the dark.

But, he did not think of that now. No, the only words to circle its way around in his mind was a continual stream of ‘OH FUCK’s and GODS WHY?’ Truly he would not have noticed a single thing when a loud, deep, scratchy voice from somewhere off in the dark croaked out, “ _ **Wuld**_.”

A towering shadow sprang into the dimming torchlight, with a crown of rotted flesh fused to a broken horned helm of ebony. Ancient armor long since torn by age held a withered physique that once was a towering, sinewy nord woman. Her eyes glowing a deep blue.

In the dead... woman’s(?) raised hand was an enchanted ax, blade, just as sharp as it was in life as death. What remained of her lips was stuck in a snarl while the next word crept past her teeth, _“Dir Volaan!”*_

Gimli didn’t stand a chance.

For a moment, not a sound could be heard, the undead no longer advanced, the adventurer’s breaths held in place; as the blade of the ax connected with the eldest brother’s loosely armored throat.

Gilli turned to look at his dear brother at the worst possible moment.

The thump that followed was deafening. Heavy armor cracking against a soft, pliable body; falling to the earth for eons, headless.

Gore splashed Gilli’s face, getting in his mouth as he screamed, “ _ **BROTHER**_!”

The captain could do nothing as he turned, only to watch the young nord boy’s shouting awaken the entire crypt, his body moving on its own as the female draugr charged him as well, stepping over Gimli’s headless corpse as if he was nothing more than a heavy rock in her way.

“Bastard! I’ll kill you!” His voice cracked, tears streaking down his filthy cheeks, warpaint staining it a vile piss yellow.

The draugr only growled, gleaming eyes locked on the boy as he swung, missing her by centimeters. Sloppy from his anger and grief.

_Shit._

The captain could do nothing to stop the upcoming slaughter as the draugr chopped down another of his men. Gilli’s arm fell down to the earth alongside his ax. The ebony axe wielding bitch of a dead woman stomping down on his knee, forcing him to kneel before her as she got ready to strike him down.

The captain’s hand burned as he shot a fireball at the bitch; right in her unguarded chest. His orange eyes narrowed as he watched her wince. Gilli crawled backwards, bumping into the Bosmer in a mad dash attempt to escape the Deathlord before them.

Flames licked ancient mummified flesh, smoke of ash and dust dancing around her as the draugr screeched in anger. “ _Faaz! Paak!_ ”*

The captain and Gilli had no idea what the fuck the living corpse just said, didn’t want or need to know as the captain grabbed Gilli by the pits and dragged him to his feet, ready to flee the Deathlord bastard at any moment, before she came at them once more.

And once more she charged. The momentary shock of the bosmer’s attack long forgotten as she raised her weapon in the air to slash her prey down once more.

The blood from Gilli’s arm, mixed with the stagnant corpse water left an off red brown trail in the two men’s wake.

“Y’ffre’s roots.” The mer cursed, lips stuck in a permanent scowl. His companion was so much worse. Blooded and broken, Gilli could only scream as the draugr made another go for his leg.

_**Crack!** _

Past the bone, nearly chopped in two; right below the knee. The nord boy’s screams filled the air as the captain dropped him like a dead wait, dodging the blow to his gut the Deathlord had taken.

" _Qiilaan Us Dilon_!”* She growled, raising her ax once more, only for the captain to abandon his companion and create as much distance between them as possible.

The torch that Gim once held stood between them, feeding off a patch of dying moss, it’s yellow glow becoming ethereal as the Mer and corpse stared the other down. Both ready to kill the other the first chance they got.

Meanwhile, Gilli was left to bleed out on the sidelines.

“ _Bolog Aaz, Mal Lir_!”* her taunts, were they taunts, came heavy and filled with a deep seated malice as the bosmer’s right hand burned once more with a conjured flame.

“You’ll die here today creature. That I can promise.” The captain’s jaw hurt as he spoke, harder to pull a face as he readied his weapon for a fight. A foul taste leaked into his mouth as he raised his right hand just that much more. His left clutching tight to his trusty hunting knife.

But what use was a dagger and magic against the undead?

Not much I’m afraid.

The argonian has stopped for a breath as the sounds of clashing blades and the crackling of flames reached his mind. Turning back at a considerable distance, he saw his companions. The nord brother’s lay bloodied on the ground, Gimli lay face down as Gilli dragged himself back to his kin with tears in his eyes.

He did not even know what had happened.

Meanwhile the captain was alone as he squared off against a vaguely female draugr dressed in ancient armor, wielding an enchanted ebony ax.

_Well. Shit._

“Aav Dilon, Volaan.”* The death lord’s voice was a raspy snarl as she circled the Bosmer, cracked yellow teeth clacking together while she took bites out of the air between them, becoming more beast like with each passing moment.

What remained of her hair was a silvery red mass of tangled braids that had, in centuries past, somehow, fused to the flesh of her neck and back in the decomposition process. The jerky sinew of her muscles stretched and tore from millennia of disuse, but the captain doubted that she (it) could feel pain anymore.

Mirroring the draugr, the captain circled the torch, but doing the exact opposite of her as he did it. If she went right, he went left; if she readied to attack, he would take a step back into the shadows- ready to run. While a part of him would most likely feel guilty, Gilli was a goner and he had a wife and child to provide for. He couldn’t just play a hero anymore.

The mer needed to be practical about this. Even if it made him seem to be a coward to his more honor bound companions. He needed to get out of here alive.

Raising his left hand, dagger poised to strike at a moment’s notice the captain threw an insult, stepping back into the shadows as the corpse snarled, stepping past the torch that had previously kept the two apart. Not caring as it roared to life with her body as kindling. Coming towards him, ax raised. A familiar glint to kill misting over her eyes, nothing else seemed to matter.

The beast appeared to be frustrated, threatening him more in that ancient tongue of hers that none present even really knew how or what the answer was or what to say back. For all they knew she was talking about the futility of her life or the benefits of paying your taxes.

Probably not.

A man could only dream though, _right_?

Even so, her stilted, jerking movements were filled with a purpose like none other as the flames licked at the fur of her armor and the dry, cracked chunks of her own flesh that dangled off it.

“Kren sosaal, mal lir!”*

She took a swipe at the Bosmer’s head.

_Crack!_

The captain bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood as he threw himself to the side, jumping out of the way and narrowly avoiding her mighty ax of death in the process. Counting his lucky stars, the captain created more distance between the two. It wasn’t graceful as he threw himself over a long since extinguished brazer, nor when he set the moss around him aflame in the process.

Now a boulder of rubble and the raging fire that once was Gimli’s torch and the captain’s own magic stood in her way.

Thank the gods. But, that wasn’t the only piece of good news to greet the mer this fine day of death and despair. No.

The ebony ax had gotten stuck in a crack on the wall. It’s blade lodged in the stone at such an angle as to make it extremely difficult for the draugr Deathlord to set it free. Not without letting her guard on the Bosmer drop long enough for him to strike her down.

Or she could abandon her weapon of choice and attack the elf weaponless. Whichever worked to be honest, there wasn’t another blade, bow, or shield on her person that could be used against the Bosmer. Unless she pulled the murder stick out of her ass and started swinging.

All of the above options had value, just not in the draugr Deathlord’s favor. But playing fair with the undead didn’t seem to sit all that unwell with the Bosmer captain as he raised his right hand in the air; and set that bitch aflame one more time.

The scream that left her lips was music to the Mer’s sensitive ears as she put out her back and let loose a positively mind bending howl of anguish. If she hadn’t just killed his second in command, Gimli, the elf might have even felt bad for the walking dead woman. But, he didn’t.

He never would either.

The fire consumed her, turning her silvery red hair into a pillar of smoke and ash as she staggered away from her ax's handle and screamed some more into the void. The captain’s lips felt like they were being torn on the edges from the strain of his own bloodthirsty smirk.

With the dark surrounding them, the mer’s only source of light was the screaming mess before him. Her hands turned to misshapen claws; mouth a gaping maw, armor a warped crimson from the heat, and eyes a dimming wisp of what it once was. She would pass soon. That’s all the Bosmer could hope for as he fell back against the cold, damp stone. The chill was a welcome distraction against his burning flesh. The arrow‘s scratch on his cheek began to fester in the ever changing heat and chill, it’s hellish sting being the only present factor.

He hissed, spitting up foamy pink saliva in the stumbling corpse’s direction. The muscles in his neck straining while he looked around for his companions.

Perched in the shadows, the argonian watched as the draugr stumbled forward, body ablaze as the ancient creature’s bones finally gave out, what remained of her dissolving into a pile of ashes as she fell to the earth below once more. For the last time.

No longer did her eyes glow that eerie blue.

Taking a breath, the over-sized lizard stepped into the light, small bits of humanity returning to him as he looked upon the carnage surrounding him.

Gimli’s headless body lay in an ever growing puddle of his and his younger brother’s own blood. His head remained by his side. Unblinking. Watching his former companions with a terrifying look of dawning horror.

He knew what was going to happen when the Deathlord took him.

The younger nord was a mess. Loud, heaving sobs leaving his body with each laborious passing breath he’d take. His flesh, already pale from life in the north, seemed lifeless as he remained slumped upon his brother’s chest, sobbing into what remained of his neck. Mixing blood and tears amongst the gore that remained. Voice hoarse with sorrow and pain as he begged the gods for his kin back.

“By Shor’s bone please, Talos, Arkay- please bring him back. Take me. Take me instead.” The words repeated over and over as he clutched Gimli’s body close.

But the gods weren’t here, were they? They would never hear him down here. Nor would they answer his begging. The argonian knew this well.

There would be no miracles. No chance at seeing his friend’s again. For the gods were cruel and cared little for man, mer, or beast.

But that didn’t stop the lizard for hoping.

As it was so many times before, it was left up the the poor captain to play the voice of reason. Limping towards the two men, one dead and the other knocking at death’s door, his movements being a jerky mess while he dropped a heavy hand onto his companion’s heaving shoulder. “I’m sorry Gil, but he’s gone...”

“The gods have him now. There’s nothing we can do.” The elf’s soft timber barely broke the echoing misery that surrounded the last three survivors of the Crone’s Men expedition. Somewhere in the shadows, whispers grew closer, but that didn’t matter as the Ed tried to help his friend find piece of mind in a world gone mad.

And, looking at the never ending wounds of Gilli, it would soon be two. This wasn’t just comfort, it was a final goodbye.

That left a bitter taste in the argonian’s mouth.

But the nord was having none of it.

“I know that Firras, by the nine don’t you think I’d fucking KNOW that by now?” Venom dripped from his tongue as he shook off his friend. Blood stained and strained, the nord took a shaky breath as he stared down upon what once was his brother. “You think I’m some nai’v boy without a fuzz to his chest?”

“I know that he’s gone. I’m fucking lay in’ in my brother’s gods damned blood, begging gods to bring a headless man back to life. Don’t _YOU THINK I KNOW THIS_?”

Spit flew from his blooded lip, spraying the elf into taking a shaky step back from the onslaught.

Raising his hands in surrender, the Captain tried his best to placate the dying man. “I’m sorry Gil-“

“No you aren’t Firras! You were never sorry about any of this shit!” Pointing his finger at the mer’s face, he jabbed at his barely focusing eye. A look of betrayal and hate taking over him. “None of you bastards are fucking sorry. None of you cared about him. It’s your little whore’s fault that we’re here in the first place!”

“Gil-“

“If you weren’t so preoccupied with playing favorite to a damned milk drinker traitor whore with a fancy for the throne you would have known that this place wasn’t safe. If you had seen the signs... seen the warnings...”

“Gilli be quiet!” The argonian hissed, pulling his bow off his back as the Nord’s voice got louder. They still weren’t out of the woods yet, if he didn’t quiet down, then the draugr would be upon them once more. They needed to be quiet.

“He...”

“He would still be here, Firras. Gim would still be alive.” Fresh tears dribbled down to the nord boy’s chin, ruining his warpaint. His breathing was becoming less and less.

Wouldn’t be much more time left now...

“I know that Gilli. Gods do I know that. But our Patron had no idea any of this would happen. You KNOW that.” Firras attempted to bring the nord to see reason in his final moments. His eyes straining to see the blur that made up his friend’s face. “You’ve known the Crone’s successor long enough to know that she wouldn’t send us here just to die.”

“There was more than seven of us when we came here, Firras. Now it will be just you and the lizard.”

“Don’t dare say things like that Gilli-“

“We’ll all die if the nord doesn’t keep his voice down.” The argonian growled, cutting pieces of cloth off his cloak and tying it to his arrows. With the fire raging beside him, maybe he could...

“Deeklus.” Firras hissed, a warning in his tone as the nord huffed.

“It’s not a lie elf, the dead will soon be upon us.” Deeklus placed one of his tied arrows into the Deathlord’s flame, setting it alight and sending it off into the dark with a hiss.

At a distance, ten walking corpses with weapons raised wandered closer. Their glowing blue eyes illuminated by the passing flame of the arrow. Even nailing one of the fucks right in the mouth in the process. Meanwhile the sorrowful scene of the dying man and his companions continued on.

“But we still must try-“

“We would just be denying the inevitable. We need to leave.”

“The lizard’s right elf, gods, look at me, I’ve one arm and a leg, I’ll never make it back to Windhelm in this condition.” Gesturing to what remained of him, the nord ran his last hand past his neck. Where the bitch struck his brother, where she almost struck him.

“Don’t say stuff like that friend, I’ll carry you on my back if I have to. We don’t need to leave one more man behind.” But there was no hope in his voice as the nord shook his head.

“But you must.” Accepting his fate, the bite that once was as fiery as his hair left along with the color of his cheeks. He was close, the nord could feel it coming no doubt.

“If there’s a chance for you both to reach Windhelm, take it. I’ll just be a dead weight.” Gilli knew what needed to be done, knew what would happen to him if his companions stayed or left. It wouldn’t change.

He was going to die.

“You won’t be a dead weight, no one else needs to die Gilli.”

“Pah, You need to leave me, elf. I’d rather join my brother in Sovngarde. You need to return to the Surface. They need to know what’s down here. What Deeklus and Syndarius saw.” The finality of his voice left the elf little choice as the nord brought his remaining hand back to the elf’s shoulder in kind. His weight was tremendous and taxing upon his shoulder.

Guilt and poison made the bosmer’s legs turn to lead. “I’m sorry Gilli, I’ll tell the council that you fought bravely.”

“Fuck the council and the high king, tell them to shove their honor up their ass.” Gilli snapped as the argonian took another shot at the draugr.

Another one gone. _Thwiiiiick_. Another one gone. Too many more to go.

“You need your strength to leave this place old man. These stones are no place for a milk drinker like you to die in.” While the jab might have been funny in any other scenario, the elf could do nothing more than force himself to smile. 

“I may not be a nord, but I hope that I see you again someday Gil.”

“Egh, I’ll leave you a tankard if you make it to Sovngarde Firras. Otherwise...”

“ _This is goodbye Farris, Deeklus_.”

“Goodbye Gilli.”

“Give them hell friend.”

With one last goodbye, Deeklus and Farris stepped away from the dying nord, eyes downcast as poor Gilli plucked his brother’s shield from off his back and turned to the growing darkness. One last stand against the night. 

Even if it may just be in vain.

The Deathlord’s fading light just barely kept the other draugr hidden. Necrotic faces set in an unearthly hue, snarling in their unknown tongue.

A part of the captain wanted to stay and fight. But, that wouldn’t have been reasonable. He would just die, senselessly like the other Crone’s men. The other, more reasonable part of his mind reminded him that he was still hurt, the poison in his cheek was beginning to spread. He could barely see, colors seemed so overwhelming, intense and vibrant, details faded as he looked at the nord boy’s profile, then the draugr, before finally turning to the fading flames and the argonian. To his last chance at an escape.

Since when did fires seem so bright? Since when was the flame of Gilli’s beard become such an amorphous blob of yellowed oranges?

“We need to go captain.” Deeklus warned, taking another shot before grabbing the captain’s arm and dragging him to his feet.

“We can’t save him, but we can still save Skyrim. Farris.” His whisper came as little more than a whine while Gilli reached for and grasped his brother’s limp hand on last time. This was the end.

And just like that, they ran.

No light to lead them, the argonian and the captain rushed after a faint breeze that might not even be there.

The dark kept good company as the screams of Draugr and Gilli followed them.

They left him to die so that they might reach the surface. Gods, but, was it worth it?

**Author's Note:**

> Not yet.


End file.
